Bernard: a berceuse

Your lips my sustenance, until
they crack and flake away,
A skin leaf
I brush aside with my fingers.

Your eyelids slide, sag
into the creases and hollows
from which I’d siphoned
away your seeping, salt-tinged wetness.

How long, dear, can I keep you?

My song, your song,
resonates within these bones
pretending to life.
We’ll waltz when the world falls asleep.

My lips, my tongue,
rest on the cushion of skin
below your breast.
I’ll lend you my warmth while you sleep.


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